


Your Thoughts Are My Desires

by Sparcina



Series: Iron Webs to Covet [10]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Accidental Telepathy, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Caring, Fluff and Humor, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mind Reading, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Peter is of age, Rough Kissing, Sexual Tension, Telepathy, Thought Projection, half-naked sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2020-10-27 03:30:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20753627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: Peter doesn't know that Tony, and Tony alone, can read his thoughts.*Accidental Telepathy AU*





	1. Worrying (Peter)

The first time it happened was over pizza one night, more precisely at three fifteen in the morning on a rainy Saturday. The kitchen had been deserted long ago, both by those who had to leave for work early (like Ms. Potts) or were being sent on a very secret mission (the Widow had left thirty-three minutes ago). In other words, the vast, tastefully furnished communal kitchen was pretty much deserted. Except for Peter, who was picking up the last slice of cold Hawaiian pizza while drinking in the data feed on his StarkPad, there was only a very tired Dr. Banner, and the older man was hunched over his own side of the counter, a mug of lukewarm tea seemingly the only thing keeping him awake. 

Okay, so perhaps Clint was up and about in the ventilation shaft, but Peter’s spider senses usually tingled in warning the second something or someone dangerous closed on him. They certainly tingled _now _as another person dragged their feet into the room, although the person concerned was only a threat to his sleep schedule, and more importantly, his heart.

“Coffee,” was the first thing out of Tony Stark’s mouth.

“Hey,” Peter said, and he wanted to slap himself for how lame it came out. No do-over, however. _Try again, Parker, _he told himself firmly. "Er, I think there’s still a pot in the kitchen? Or I could make another one if-”

“Focus on those formulas for your web fluid,” Tony replied, gesturing vaguely in his direction (was that a half thumb up?), eyes lighting up slightly as he took in the aforementioned pot of coffee. “I’m all good here, kid.”

Peter bit down his lip but didn’t add anything. The pizza didn’t seem so appetizing anymore that he’d been reminded just how much out of Tony’s league he was (out of his universe, really), but he forced another bite down anyway. Pineapple belonged on pizza, no matter what some people said... and Peter, in his heart of heart, belonged body and soul to Tony. Not that Tony knew about that. Or that it really was a thing outside Peter’s imagination. But dreams existed for a very good reason, so Peter tore off a bit of crust and stuffed it into his mouth, pretending that the data on the screen was really that captivating. Which is was, when Tony wasn't siping at his coffee with a moan straight out of Peter's wildest wet dreams.

Dr. Banner sighed. He'd been bent over his own StarkPad working out the kinks of a complex epigenetic experiment for a small eternity. Peter had helped out earlier to the best of his abilities, but he'd also spent the day at school, then the best part of the evening patrolling Queens, and his enhanced physiology only stretched so far, which meant that he, too, was about to doze off.

Dr. Banner waved at him from the other side of the counter, Peter mentally shook himself. "You could use a nap, too," he pointed out, not unkindly, as he gathered his things and headed for the elevator, sans mug. "Don't fall asleep here again, or you know he'll worry."

Peter fought the blush creeping up his face, to no avail. Fortunately for him, Dr. Banner was done reminding him of the obvious, and Peter was left alone to ponder on the embarrassment that was his life.

Oh, he had a great life. An amazing life, even, spent among the best people to ever have walked the Earth. Bruce Banner was a fabulous scientist with a great understanding of the human's mind, for all his protests that people made him uneasy; Pepper Potts was one hell of an impressive CEO who knew what she wanted and made it her personal mission to make her underlings (and her boss, more often than not) see things the way she did. Natasha Romanov was the most skilled warrior Peter had ever had the pleasure to spare with, Clint Barton had the kind of sense of humor that made Peter relax after a hard day (or cringe, depending on the archer's mood), Ned was his best friend...

... and Tony, Mr. Stark, was the man he desired and loved so desperately he had to wonder if 'unrequited feelings' were an acceptable epitaph.

“He’s right,” a voice purred close by. “I do worry about you, kid.”

Peter blinked rapidly. He refused to blush _again_, but stoic had never been his default mode under the intense scrutiny of one Tony Stark, no matter the amount of caffeine backing it up. The fact that his love interest wore loose pants that threatened to slide down his hips and a white tank top smudged with grease and smelling of sweat, on top of sporting the cutest bed hair in the universe, with a bang sticking to his brow in a compelling encouragement to stare at the rich chocolate brown of his all-too-seeing eyes, made his attempt at casual truly challenging.

“Well, you shouldn’t, Mr. Stark.” _Tony_, he mentally rectified. _God, I wish he could see what he means to me. Welcome it, even. _“You’re the one we’re all worried about.” _Well, I am, anyway. He just got up and looks tired already. He works too hard, but that's nothing new, _he mused sadly, trying to decide if he should eat the rest of his slice, or declare pizza time over. _I wish he'd let me take care of him_…_. what? _“Mr. Stark, are you okay?”

The other man had choked on his last sip of coffee. Peter witnessed an impressive display of emotions racing across his handsome face: confusion, astonishment, confusion taking the lead again, then anger, culpability, and yeah, astonishment again. Tony's eyes widened comically.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter hopped off his stool and came to stand a few feet away from the genius, hands at his sides, feeling helpless. _Tell me what’s wrong. _"Are you okay?"

“All good.” Mr. Stark whizzed, but didn’t elaborate. “I- I think I should go back to bed.”

“After you just had coffee?” Peter blurted out in puzzlement, but Tony was already making a beeline for the lift like his pants were on fire.

For a solid three seconds, Peter remained rooted to the spot, all thoughts of web fluid and fatigue forgotten. Something was amiss with Mr. Stark, and Peter knew, he just did, that whatever it was, he was to blame somehow. He played back the last few minutes, but he couldn't see what he could have done to cause such a reaction. Perhaps he should ask Friday... which he did, but the AI didn’t seem to hear him. Worry bloomed in Peter’s chest, just like it was prone to do around Tony Stark. He couldn’t lose Tony, not if he had a say in it. Whatever he'd done wrong, he would fix. That was what he did.

And the first step towards that goal was finding out what he'd done to send Tony running in the opposite direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Bones/Chekov equivalent of this fic, see [A Kiss for Your Thoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17667956).


	2. Panicking (Tony)

Holy shit on a quantum cracker, he had a problem–and Tony didn’t use that word lightly in his own mind. He felt like his heart had just been catapulted around his chest at light speed in a poor attempt to imitate a particle accelerator, and he was staring at his own mini Large Hadron Collider. Not that he was seeing it, or sensing anything at his fingertips. He could barely feel his own face. That was the extent of his shock, although that word right there, _shock_, didn’t come close to describe his current state. His mind just couldn’t form words anymore.

Because Peter’s words had taken over all the space in his head, overwhelming in their honesty, their intensity.

_God, I wish he could see what he means to me. _

If only the kid knew how _he _meant to _him…_

_I wish he'd let me take care of him._

That, right here, was the reason his blood flow was so out of control.

“Fri, there’s a serious possibly I’m losing my mind here,” he announced to the room at large a little breathlessly.

“I suppose it must have increased since yesterday, then,” Friday replied smartly.

Tony set down his empty coffee mug so hard the _bang _echoed in the lab. He didn’t even remember having brought down a mug in here. His nostrils flared. “I’m dead serious, Fri. Activate Only Serious Protocol.”

“Emergency Protocol activated,” Friday replied without an ounce of sarcasm. “Talk to me, boss.”

“I think…” Tony sank in the closest chair and pressed his face in his shaking hands. Breathe, he told himself. You know how that works. You are _not _losing your mind. Weirder shit has happened to you before. There must be a logical explanation; there always is.

“The kid has a crush on me.” Don’t make it sound as though you didn’t suspect it before, a little voice whispered in his head. Shut up, little voice. This isn’t mere _suspicion _anymore. “I… I know how it sounds, but I heard his thoughts.”

“You two were exposed to attacks of a magical nature just last week,” Friday replied one point thirty-two seconds later, and yeah, that made sense as far as magic ever did.

Tony sighed in relief… then tensed up all over again, because that knowledge didn’t solve the problem. At all.

“I need a drink,” he told himself.

But he didn’t move from his seat, and not only because he knew Friday would remind him of his decision to spend the next three weeks entirely sober. He just… He probably should talk to the kid, try to figure out to dissect the issue, find out the when, how, and why, and work with him to undo what could only be partially undone.

Because Tony _knew_. He couldn’t see pictures in Peter’s mind, only hear his inner voice and pick up its words, but the kid had always been 100 % honest with others and with himself, and God, if Tony’s life had been a mess before trying to get rid of his inappropriate attraction to his mentee, how much worse would it get now that he knew that he might not be the only one jerking out to thoughts of extracurricular activities involving vastly different types of fluids?

No, screw that _might_: Peter had been quite clear.

_I wish he'd let me take care of him._

From someone else, it could have been meant as simple comfort. A let-me-wrap-you-up-in-a-blanket type of ‘care’. But here had been heat in Peter’s eyes, a raw yearning that was only made more obvious by the blush he’d obviously fought to control. So Tony had fled the room (the whole floor altogether). He’d locked himself in his lab, which he always did when he was running away from his problems. Not that Peter was a problem; Peter was the solution to the world’s decline, the perfect being a god-from-somewhere had designed after years of trying his hand on humanity and a variety of other alien species. He was sweet and loyal to a fault, brilliant, too perceptive for his own good, devoted to do good, while Tony… Tony _had _everything but _was _no one, not in the sense that Peter was Good–capitalized, italicized, underlined, etc.

Tony had always been fond of the kid, but for a little more than a year, this personalized brand of affection had morphed into something else. Something that kept Tony awake way past the time he should have collapsed from over-tinkering without eating or sleeping. Something that tugged at his heartstrings whenever Peter smiled at him that special smile he seemed to have just for him.

Something that guided his hand to his cock way too often. Something that completely wiped out the fantasy material he kept in mind for some late-night me-time and replaced it by Peter’s body. That ‘Mr. Stark’ wasn’t a question, or a playful, shy exclamation in his heated-up imagination; it was a prayer, a wanton moan, Peter _begging _for more of his touch. And Tony wanted to touch him so fucking much that sometimes, his fingers bloody _tingled _in the kid’s vicinity.

He wanted Peter to take up a place in his life he’d only offered once before, and it terrified him, because he knew he couldn’t, but he was completely helpless to crush that desire.

The urge to take a willing Peter to bed and take him apart in the best way–and the kid _was _willing (that was the problem with certitude).

The raw desire to take Peter’s hands in his and open his heart to him. A bitter, worn-out heart patched too many times, and Peter deserved so much better.

“Boss.”

“Can’t I die for a while without being bothered, Fri?”

“Peter would like to access the lab.”

Tony dug the heel of his palm into his eyes and shot the one-sided tinted glass a weary–hopeful look.

“Tell him… Tell him I’ll be busy for the rest of the day.”

Some days, Tony really hated his life. Most days, though, he merely hated himself.

“Order a bunch of pancakes from the place he likes so much, will you, Fri? And see to it that he gets some sleep.”

He refused to turn around to look at the disappointed face he _knew _he would find on the other side of the glass.

He remained there, hands limp and heart clenched tight, for a very long time.


	3. Wondering (Peter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My novel is giving me a headache, so I came back to this little baby to blow some off some steam. Have fun!

Mr. Stark had avoided him before, so the whole hide and seek routine was nothing new. Usually, though, he was better at pretending he wasn’t aware of it, pretexting avenging or tinkering. And it didn’t last that long either.

Two weeks had gone by since that fateful morning, and Peter didn’t know what to do. He tried to give Mr. Stark, _Tony_, some space, thinking that maybe he’d been too obvious about his crush, and that the older man just needed time to process it, but he kept everyone else on the team at bay, too, including Dr. Banner, and that… that didn’t tend to happen so often.

To say that Peter didn’t sleep well would be an understatement.

On Saturday night, he went on patrol until three in the morning. _That_ wasn’t exactly unusual, but by the time he’d webbed two thieves to a lamppost and rescued his seventh cat from a hard-to-get location, he was dead on his feet. He sank down on the roof of an apartment building in Manhattan and lifted up his mask, breathing in the scent of oncoming spring. Perhaps he could take a short nap before going back to the Tower. Or swing by Ned’s place and build a new Lego Set. In a nutshell: give Mr. Stark even more space. From _him_.

God, he was he as pathetic as he felt?

“You have minus a million reasons to feel pathetic, Spider Butt,” chimed a cheerful voice at his back.

Peter was so startled (what was wrong with his spider senses?) that he might have fallen off the roof if not for the strong grip on his shoulder.

“Hey, no jumping on my watch.”

Peter swirled around, batting the hand away on reflex. “Deadpool?”

“The one and only,” the merc drawled, and plopped down at his side, legs hanging off the roof. “What’s on your mind, Spider Bite?”

Peter felt a headache coming. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Deadpool. Deadpool was really likeable, when he wasn’t kebab-ing people "who ought to be wiped off the plot, just sayin'” whatever _that_ meant. It was just… the flirting. Deadpool was really fond of that activity, and did it as often as possible. With him.

It dawned on him, then.

“Oh, God.”

Deadpool brought both hands to his masked mouth, eyes going comically wide. “Not what I was expecting, but I can dig–”

“I have to go.” Peter scrambled to his feet and aimed for the closest building, holding the thread of silk as soon as it glued itself to the façade. “See you around!”

_Fuck_. That must be it–that must be why Mr. Stark avoided him like the plague.

Because of the flirting.

Not everyone was aware they were flirting, and Peter would know. How many times Michelle had told him that someone was hitting on him when Peter had zero clue? He wasn’t interested in random men… but that wasn’t the point. The point was, what if _he _was flirting with Mr. Stark and hadn’t noticed? What if he’d crossed a line he hadn’t seen?

He was out of breath as he barreled into his own set of rooms in the Tower.

“Is everything all right, Peter?”

“Oh, hey, Friday.” He slammed his palm on the symbol at the center of his chest and felt the nanobots return to the casing. “Everything’s good, thanks. Is…” He hesitated. He hadn’t dared ask yet, for fear of being turned down, but how was he supposed to apologize if he couldn’t see the man? _Man up, Parker._ “…Do you think Tony, I mean Mr. Stark, would be okay to see me? Just a minute. I don’t want to…” _Make him any more uncomfortable_, he thought dejectedly. “I want to apologize.”

Friday was suspiciously silent for twelve seconds, and Peter’s senses did tingle, this time. “Friday?”

“Boss should get some sleep. I’ll unlock the lab for you.”

Relief hit him like a train wreck, and _he_'d know how that felt. “Thank you so much.”

Showering was a matter of minutes. He pulled on the first pants and shirt he found, and only noticed in the elevator that he’d put on the Forbidden Shirt, aka the AC/DC shirt he’d borrowed from Tony ages ago and never returned because he loved to sleep in it, and do _things _in it that weren't sleeping at all.

“Er, Friday, could we…”

But the doors were already sliding, and the lab was just there. With Tony. Needing to sleep. 

Peter felt like a fool standing there with Tony's shirt and his face on fire, but he hadn’t made it into the Avengers by being a coward, so he got into the program and walked into the lab with his shoulders straight-ish.

_He does look tired_, he thought at once, the sight of Mr. Stark slumped over his desk tugging at his heartstrings. _How do I get him to rest?_

“Kid?”

Tony shot to his feet and swirled around. The bags under his eyes were so dark they looked like bruises. 

“Hey. Sorry for barging in like that.” Peter went silent, wringing his hands as he considered his next words. Tony looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but somehow, the general impression of vulnerability didn’t make him any less attractive… or loveable. _Fuck, I want to hug him so bad_, he thought fiercely, and blushed a little as Tony’s lips parted on a gasp. _I just don’t know how to be around him. I know he doesn’t want me like I want him, that what I feel is a one-way street, but I don’t know how to turn_ _it__ off, I don’t…_

It all sounded equally bad in his head, and surely Tony was about to toss him out now, before Peter got it right and fixed things between them, again, but to his profound relief, Tony just… walked up to him and wrapped him into the most wonderful hug Peter had ever experienced.

_Oh my god, oh my god, he’s hugging me! _he thought, fireworks going off in his chest. Tentatively, he returned the embrace, inhaling Tony’s scent as discretely as possible. _Did I do something right? What did I do? Oh god, he smells so good, it’s way better than the shirt, he’s so warm, no, bad Peter, that’s the time to be thinking about how much you want to rub yourself all over him and beg him to fill you up…_

The sound of Tony choking made him pull back in alarm. “Mr. Stark? Are you okay?”

“Fuck.”

Tony looked like he’d been punched in the gut, and Peter didn’t understand. “I’m sorry,” he said, band felt his heart sank at the look of pure horror on Tony's face. “I don’t… Is it…” Michelle would laugh herself to death if she could see him like now, so very _articulate_. “Tell me how to fix this,” he pleaded as a last resort, gesturing between them like it meant something. God, his heart ached. “I know I did something, and I’m sorry–”

“You did nothing wrong, Peter.”

“Then why–”

“Please don’t cry, okay? I’m bad with crying, and I hate it when you don’t smile.”

Peter wiped hurriedly at his cheeks, eyes darting to the hand Tony had caught in his, at the thumb brushing over the sensitive skin between thumb and index finger. Had Tony taken notice of the shirt he was wearing? 

_Oh no, _he thought, and froze. _What if he asks for it now? I have nothing under it. Is it clean enough? _ He gave what he hope was a discrete sniff at the collar. _Fuck, still smells like me. And it's no wonder. _He was getting frantic now, working himself up in his own head. He wished he could stop, but Tony was gripping his hand increasingly harder, as if he wanted to make sure Peter wasn’t about to run, and it made no sense, because Peter never wanted to let go of Tony, not even to save his pride. _It's okay, Parker,_ he told himself_,_ _Tony doesn't have heightened senses. He won't pick up the scent of your cum_…

“Kid, stop thinking.”

Peter’s eyes snapped up. There was something about Tony’s voice beyond impatience…yearning? But no, that couldn’t be right. “Uh?”

Tony closed his eyes briefly. Peter watched, entranced, his throat bobbing, the shudder going through him next. When those brown eyes met him again, there was… guilt, in them. And yearning, definitely.

Which…so didn’t answer Peter’s question.

“Stop thinking,” Tony repeated, a little softer. "I'm begging you."

He was _blushing_. Peter blinked, but no, the flush didn’t disappear, and Tony looked precisely like Peter felt most days in Tony’s presence.

Confusion didn’t begin to describe how he felt.

“Mr. Stark?”

“I… Remember the fight we had against Amora a few weeks back?”

With a frown, Peter nodded. Mr. Stark was still holding his hand, and Peter wasn’t about to bring attention to it. “Did something happen to you? Like, you seemed all right, but…”

“Something happened to us, kid.” Mr. Stark looked away. “You… I can hear you.”

_O-kay_. Peter pinched himself with his free hand, but no, he wasn’t dreaming, so this was simply Mr. Stark making no sense, a statistical improbability. “… don’t you usually do?” he asked carefully.

“Oh no.” Tony released his hand and took a step back.

Peter could hear his heartbeat quicken, could see the tempting jump of the pulse in his neck. His mouth pooled with saliva. _The scratch of his goatee on my skin...__No, not the time to think about his mouth on me. _

Mr. Stark’s eyes were a little wide–a little wild–but his pupils were inexplicably bigger than normal. Dilated. And he was breathing a little faster, still, as if…

Peter must not have pinched himself hard enough. “Mr. Stark,” he half-whispered, not daring to break whatever spell he was under. “What do you mean?”

"What I mean, k- Peter," Tony said, the muscle in his jaw tightening, "is that I hear your thoughts."


	4. Pleasuring (Tony)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two fics wrapped up in two days. The author is on a roll, my cinnamon buns.

“What I mean, k- Peter, is that I hear your thoughts."

Tony could see the moment the meaning of his words sank in, and he could hear it, too: Peter’s internal rambling stopped. The kid stumbled back, eyes very wide, and Tony let him. There was no doubt in _his _mind that had their roles been reversed, he would have run as far as the laws of physics allowed him. Which. He’d done a few days earlier, for vastly different reasons. However, this wasn’t about Tony’s feelings. Peter was the one whose privacy was being constantly invaded because a little Asgardian Sabrina was bored.

“I’m trying to figure out a way to reverse-engineer the spell, but I’m not exactly your friendly neighborhood Harry Potter,” he said as casually as he could, plugging in that modern reference to try and cheer up the kid, but Peter was still going into shock. 

“So,” he said, and wondered if anything he could say would make it better. “I can’t promise I’ll forget, ’cause, you know, that’s not how memory works, but we can pretend it didn’t happen, and when you…” He lapsed into silence and gestured at the shirt Peter was wearing, because he was an asshole through and through. That wonderful thought Peter had involuntarily shared about the scent lingering in his shirt was threatening to give him a Very Inappropriate Situation south of the belt, and he didn’t mean Kuiper. He cleared his throat, which did nothing to erase every little secret he’d gained from Peter. Secrets that matched his own, “Just keep that... shirt.” His voice came out a little rough. “Just… take your time,” he added, which was what he’d meant to say in the first place. “I’ll stick to the lab for the foreseeable future. Like I’ve been doing lately. Can’t…” He dug the heel of one hand in his eyes because hell, the kid had no right to look so innocent when he’d gotten off _on Tony’s shirt_. “I’ll call you if you can help. Or you call me if you have any ideas. You’re the brightest one in the room…”

_You're the brightest one in any room._

Tony heard the audible click of his throat as he swallowed. Peter’s lips hadn’t moved. Should he pretend he hadn’t heard that wandering thought, as well? 

_I don’t think I can forget, Mister- Tony._

The sudden confidence in Peter’s (inner) voice gave Tony a serious cause of whiplash. That flash of determination in the kid's eyes... It never failed to make him proud… or turned on. It was very much the latter right now, and the more Peter lowered his gaze, the more Tony felt his body react. 

_I don’t think you can either, _Peter concluded.

Should thoughts feel _smug_?

“I’m sorry.” Tony wanted to slap himself in the face. Later, with the suit's participation, maybe. That might hurt enough. “I should be able to control myself better.” He laughed, and it sounded… ragged, wrecked. He felt wrecked, too. “I’m forty-five years old. It's not acceptable.”

“That you want me?”

“Er, yes? You can’t _not _be aware of the problem here.”

Peter met his eyes. He was still blushing, but he was smiling, too–the hopeful kind. His eyes were smiling as well. There was a softness to them, and this, right here, was one of a million reasons why Tony had fallen for the kid, and fallen hard.

_The only problem I see is your denial._

“That’s not–This isn’t,” Tony sputtered.

“I’m twenty, and I know who I want. Who I love,” Peter confessed, because the kid had always been brave, a lot more than Tony could ever hope to be. “I’d never have said anything if not for…this.” He twisted his hands together, suddenly sheepish. _I’ve been in love with you for ages, but I didn’t want to risk what we had_, he added quietly, and bit down his lip like he always did in Tony’s dreams.

Tony groaned, half in despair, half in arousal. He didn’t dare open his mouth again. Anything might come out at this point, and with the way his cock was behaving, filling out with every passing second, it was probably going to be related to nighttime activities. The bend-you-over-the-nearest-desk-and-make-love-to-you variety.

“That’s not fair.”

The note of outrage in Peter’s voice broke his reverie.

“What?”

Peter took a step towards him, which wasn’t something Tony wanted with the lack of free space at his back.

(He totally wanted the kid to crowd him against the desk.)

“Kid…”

“I’m not a kid anymore, Tony.”

There was hardly any distance left between them, and Tony had never been so tempted to get a kiss from those soft-looking, rosy lips. “I’m well aware,” he said drily.

The not-kid cupped his face. And Tony fucking let him, even tilted his head in invitation.

“I can’t read your thoughts,” Peter said, a note of frustration in his voice. “And that’s okay, but you know what I want, and I have no idea–”

“I love you.”

The words rushed out of Tony’s mouth, and Peter just… froze.

“I love you,” he said again, because there was no turning back now. “And I want you.” His cock, the goddamn cheerleader, twitched in his pants, and there was no way Peter didn’t feel it, with his heightened senses. “I shouldn’t,” he added, because his mother had raised him to have manners. “You deserve someone who’s not damaged goods, someone–”

_You’re perfect like you are, Tony_.

Peter sealed their lips as he thought the words, and Tony moaned low in his throat. Fuck, the kid tasted so sweet, and Tony didn’t even have his tongue down his throat yet.

He pulled back, and made a soothing noise. “’s okay, sweetheart.” The hurt on Peter’s face morphed to pure, undiluted happiness. “Just want to make sure we want the same things.”

It turned out that they did; at least, that was how it looked when Peter hopped on the desk and Tony kissed the living daylights out of him.

“If I do anything you don’t like…” Tony licked the mark he’d just left on Peter’s throat and moaned as the kid started to unfasten his own pants. “… you tell me. Understood?”

“I want you to tell me everything you want to do to me."

It was a reasonable request, one that Tony had no trouble granting once he saw the certainty in Peter’s eyes. If he was going to do the thinkable (God only knew he’d thought about this moment on too many occasions), he was going to do it the way Peter wanted. He would do anything Peter wanted, really.

“Your ass is a real threat.” He dropped his voice a couple of octaves and felt Peter shiver in his arms. “Round and firm. And you’ve got muscled thighs to die for, sweetheart. Can I get those pants off?”

_If you keep yours on_, Peter replied by thought, too busy kissing him.

Tony kissed him right back, and was pleasantly surprised to discover that Peter liked tongue, and could hold his breath a lot longer than his usual partners could. Tony, of course, was only human, but he’d always loved a challenge.

“Kinky… much?” he quipped when they parted for air.

Peter’s blushing was rapidly becoming a personal favorite of his. Especially in between bouts of brazenness.

“Only when you’re concerned,” the little minx said, and pulled his cock out of his pants.

Tony was so on board that plan. Slowly, he wrapped his hand around the kid’s erection, his thumb brushing the wet tip. He wanted it in his mouth like yesterday, but he wasn’t about to rush his exploration of the kid’s body, or the sweet young man himself. And going by the way Peter snapped his hips upwards and dug into the metal of his desk with his bare hands, he was doing just fine.

“You’re so pretty,” he growled in Peter’s ear, nibbling on the lobe. The gasp of pleasure that possessive gesture earned him caused him to harden even more (as if he wasn’t already hard enough to explode). “I’ve thought of you like that, right here in the lab. More often than I can count. You’ve been responsive in my fantasies, but the real you is something else,” he confessed, pumping that rock-hard cock a little faster in the tight vice of his fist. “This is so much better than anything I could have come up with.”

Peter threw his head back and parted his legs further. “What else w-were we doing?”

Tony cupped Peter’s balls with his other hand, and started to grind his own erection into the edge of the desk. Fuck, he hadn’t felt that aroused in decades. “You were siting here, just like this,” he purred, and closed his eyes briefly to focus. This still wasn’t about him, at least not this time. _Getting ahead of yourself much_? he thought, and felt guiltily glad Peter couldn’t hear him. The minute he’d given the kid a dozen orgasms and tucked him into bed, he was going to find a goddamn way around that thought projection spell. It really wasn’t fair.

“I would go down on you.” He felt the kid’s cock throb in his hand and set about sucking another bruise in the kid’s neck. The one he’d put there earlier was already fading. “Suck your cock until you’re spilling down my throat. Or all over my face. I’m actually having a problem deciding here, so you might want to point me in the right direction.”

“I…” Peter tensed abruptly. “Kiss me,” he choked out.

And that was what Tony did while the kid spilled himself all over his fist.

“That was fucking hot,” he said immediately afterward, because he could anticipate the embarrassing thoughts that would jump over to his mind in about half a second. “I love the idea of you being so sensitive to my touch.”

_Oh my god_, Peter thought.

Tony counted it as a win.

“I could go on all day,” he drawled, marveling at the still fully hard cock in his grip. “But I’d rather you give me a clue as to what you’d like me to do next. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m be pretty uncomfortable _at first_, but I really want you to fuck me, Tony. I…” He dropped his eyes, and here it was again, that cute little blush. “Unless you’d rather not-”

“I can’t think of anything you could want that I wouldn’t want, too,” Tony admitted honestly.

He’d never been so happy for old habits. Even though he hadn’t had sex in months, he had not gotten rid of his secret stash of lube, and it was a blessing, because the sight of Peter’s buttocks flexing around his lubed fingers was probably the hottest thing he’d ever seen, beside the blissed look on the kid’s face right now.

_Another finger_, Peter thought. _Keep talking, please._

Tony was only happy to comply.

“Have you played with yourself like that before, sweetheart? You feel so deliciously tight around my fingers. Perhaps I should add a little tongue to loosen you further?” He would do it in an instant, too, but Peter seemed intent to keep him right there, if the way he squeezed around his fingers was any indication. “Fuck, I can barely think right now. I want to make you come, again and again, until you pass out from pleasure. If you allow me, I’ll blow your mind, sweetheart…”

_I need you_, Peter thought just as a broken cry left his mouth. _Need you in me. _

Tony kept the pants–he hadn’t forgotten about Peter’s earlier request and was only too glad to fulfill his fantasies. He tugged down the zip and only pulled down the waistband of his boxer briefs a few inches to free his cock. In no time at all, he was slicked up and ready, rubbing the latex-coated tip of his cock against Peter’s twitching hole. His head was all fuzzy, and Peter’s thoughts made little more sense than his own.

_Please_, Peter begged quietly.

Tony pressed the tip against his rim and heaved out a long sigh as he felt the first inch pop inside. He’d prepped Peter a lot longer than the kid had wanted to, but it was so worth it to hear a _oh-my-god-feels-so-full-so-good-fuck _devoid of pain.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he hissed through his teeth, which was a sad truth for a man his age. Where had gone all his stamina? “You just feel too fucking good.”

Peter snapped his hips back, and the rest of Tony’s cock sank inside of him in one smooth glide.

_Ohyesfeelssogoodwantmorefuckmepleasepleaseplease…_

Tony took two handfuls of Peter’s milky white buttocks and groaned low in his throat. He was _so _not going to last. If Peter deserved something better than this, he couldn’t remember why.

“Sweetheart,” he grunted.

Peter felt like heaven, and the soft sounds he let out in an increasingly higher pitch reminded him of an angel’s plea.

“… doing so well, baby, feels so good…”

He was babbling, but most of his brain cells were on vacation, and besides, Peter was too far gone to mind the low-quality dirty talk, it seemed. The kid had one side of his face pressed into the desk, his eyes squeezed shut, his nails raking up and down, _through_ the metal of his desk, and Tony couldn’t wait for Peter to use this strength on him, to fill _him _up and keep him down while he fucked him so hard Tony was going to limp for days.

But that wasn’t how he was treating the kid. He was _making love _to him, and when Peter climaxed quietly, he was thinking the three words Tony had in mind.

_I love you_.

“’love you too, Peter.”

That spell could wait for a little while longer.

And the dry cleaning, too.


End file.
